


oh the things we wish we could wash away

by redscribbles



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Under the Red Hood (2010)
Genre: Gen, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jason Todd Has Issues, Jason Todd Whump, Lazarus Pit, Lazarus Pit Madness, Mental Breakdown, One Shot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:53:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25136464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redscribbles/pseuds/redscribbles
Summary: Jason shakes his head vigorously: no, no, no. Not again. Not again. The Joker inches closer, on his hands and knees like a dog- or maybe Jason is the dog and the Joker is some sort of deranged zookeeper, whipping the dog to tame it. He grabs a fistful of Jason's hair and yanks. The crowbar is pulled back, silver shining harshly, and Jason's eyes press shut so tightly that they hurt.
Relationships: Catherine Todd & Jason Todd & Willis Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Joker (DCU) & Jason Todd
Comments: 3
Kudos: 63





	oh the things we wish we could wash away

Blood runs through the cracks of Jason's dingy washroom, staining the indents between the tiles. He crouches in the corner of the room, cradling his head in his lap, fingers digging into his scalp and prompting red drops to climb down his paling face. It reminds his grave, the room pressing in closer and closer till he can't breathe, fingers breaking as he scratches the polished mahogany taunting him overhead. Lace, satin and frivolous materials he could never afford when he was young, sinking him deeper into the raw and tender earth.

The dim yellow lights flicker uncertainly- he knew he could've gotten a better apartment, but this one was right in the thick of Crime Alley- right next to work and close to the nice chilli dog place halfway down the street. It was cheap and trashy, all scratched floorboards and dusty curtains. The only personalized parts of the apartment were the few books sprawled on the kitchen table and the assortment of weapons hidden under his bed and in the closet. The bathroom is barren and dirty like a public restroom, only missing vulgar graffiti and smushed cigarette bums. Jason smokes on the balcony and drops the ends on unfortunate thugs below "on accident".

A strangled scream rips from his throat as he digs his fingers into his mouth. His other arm reaches out, grabbing for something to stabilize him, but all he finds are the cracks in the paint, which he rips from the wall. Stop it, stop - **focus**. The chips clatter on the floor, wall revealing old red bricks covered in mold and other uncertain substances.

Dried paint litters the floor, like the broken bottles Jason remembers from his father, and he is filled with **fear** and **anger** and **hatred** and _god, where is he?_ He can't be back there again, not again, not with that vague blur of a man who hit him and burnt him and made him cry. That vague shape of a man who threatened his mother and threw him to the floor as he left, never to be seen again but always home, staring at Jason from behind him in the mirrors.

The man with the crowbar, if he can be called a man with his unnaturally haunting grin and strange contortionist pose, squats across him on the floor, a grinning face, pale as the moon but somehow still darker than anything Jason's ever seen before. "Wanna play a game, _pumpkin_?" The Joker's voice is hysterical, as if he might burst into mad laughter in a moment's notice. It sends panic down Jason's spine, raising the hair on his neck and making him want to scream and fight and curl into a ball all at once.

Jason shakes his head vigorously: no, no, **no**. Not again. Not again. The Joker inches closer, on his hands and knees like a dog- or maybe Jason is the dog and the Joker is some sort of deranged zookeeper, whipping the dog to tame it. He grabs a fistful of Jason's hair and yanks. The crowbar is pulled back, silver shining harshly, and Jason's eyes press shut so tightly that they hurt.

 **Smack**. Across the face.

"That looks like it _really_ hurt!" Cackles fill the air. The Joker laughs and it invades Jason's ears like a desperate parasite until all he can hear is that fucking laugh, echoing on repeat in his skull. He kicks out, eyes open and vision stained green, grabbing all the things on the washroom counter and pushing them off, the sting of glass shards piercing his feet and bringing him back to reality.

He looks in the mirror and stares at his once-blue eyes, his neck covered in scratches and bruises. Good thing his uniform's basically an armoured turtleneck. Good, he thinks. Distract yourself, think of something else, think, think, think.

But the Joker's still there, he can see that devil's grin in the mirror, that evil bastard smiling at him because he won. He gets to live scot-free, he gets to run around without consequence and parade on the graveyards he's filled, the children and the innocents whose lives were snatched for what? For his own amusement? For B's attention? For nothing, nothing, absolutely NOTHING-

Damn it, think of something else. Think of Kori and Roy, on the beach, drinking whiskey. Think of that. Think. Happy times, good feelings. If only he had more of those.

He looks back up at the mirror. The Joker is gone. But the Bat stands in the washroom doorway.

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly forgot I had this account but I touched up this work a lil so :D  
> I'm not super fond of it but it's alright. Maybe someday I'll come back and fix it up again lmao
> 
> (The title's from & by Tally Hall)


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